Blood Under the Bridge
by in48frames
Summary: When Rachel wakes up in the hospital after being shot, Tom is not there.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _Fair warning, I started writing this just after finishing "Cornerstone" when I needed a change of pace, so this is... not happy! But it will end happily. Fair warning #2: The ship is Rachel/Tom but Rachel & Tex's friendship is central and there's a brief period of "with benefits," but very brief. #3: There will be descriptions of panic attacks._

 _This will be six or seven chapters in total._

* * *

 _xx  
It's all right, it's all right, it's just blood under the bridge.  
There is a fragment of light, but it's hiding in the distance.  
It's all right, it's all right, it's just blood under the bridge.  
Put down the knife and watch the blood under the bridge go by.  
xx  
It's all right, it's all right, it's just blood under the bridge,_  
 _and I'm too tired to fight, and you're sick of feeling sick, and so am I._  
 _xx_  
Blood Under The Bridge | Frightened Rabbit

Rachel woke up in the hospital groggy, her mouth as dry as if she'd never had a drink in her life, and Tex was in the chair by her bedside.

"Hey," she rasped, and he looked up, laying a hand on her arm as he stood to fetch her a glass of water from the pitcher on the table across the room.

"Hey doc," he said, bringing the glass back over and cranking the head of her bed up so she could drink from it. "How are you feeling?"

She drank, swallowed a few more times for good measure, and said, "Not great, Tex." Her shoulder was sore, her arm in a sling, and her body felt depleted. It was nothing compared to when she'd actually been shot—that memory was crystal clear in her mind, that pain something she hoped she'd never feel again. But, to put it bluntly, she felt like shit.

Looking around the room and then squinting through the window into the hallway, she said in what she hoped was a casual tone, "Is Tom here?"

Tex didn't reply for a moment, and she looked back at him, brow furrowed, to see him staring down at his hands in his lap. "Kara and Bertrise have been here, waiting for you to wake up," he said. "Chandler… I'm so sorry, Rachel." He looked up to meet her eyes, and her heart was starting to race ( _what if Tom was hurt?_ ). "He found you in the hallway, he got you to the hospital, and I… I haven't heard from him since."

That didn't make sense. "Is he okay?"

Wincing, Tex nodded. "He's been going into work. Arranging flights. He won't reply to my texts."

Rachel was stunned. Letting her head drop back onto the pillow, she stared sightless across the room and tried to convince herself not to cry. Her chest hurt. It seemed impossible to draw a full breath.

When she'd been bleeding out on the floor, tears streaming from her eyes, more scared than she'd ever been in her life, she'd kept thinking, _Tom will find me. He has to. He'll find me._ And he had. She'd been right.

Then he'd left. She hadn't seen that one coming.

Swallowing hard, she glanced back over at Tex and said faintly, "Thank you for being here."

"Of course, darlin', of course." He leaned forward in his chair. "I don't know what's going on in that man's head, but it's nothing to do with you, and we're not going anywhere. We won't leave you alone."

The tears came then, filling her eyes and quickly spilling over, and she raised her good hand up to cover her eyes, her shoulders shaking as she tried not to sob. It hurt, physically and emotionally both, and she tried to force herself to stop. Tried to still her body and dry the tears. It didn't seem to be working.

Tex reached across the bedrail, rubbing her good shoulder and saying softly, "I'm sorry, darlin'. I'm so sorry."

When she managed to settle down, swipe a tissue across her face and blow her nose, she said, "It's fine. I'm fine. Right?"

Sitting back in his chair, Tex crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. "Doctor said it missed the bone, missed the artery. Shooter didn't know his ass from his elbow, which we're all mighty thankful for. With rest and physical therapy you should make a full recovery."

"Sure," she said, looking across to the window that took up half of the opposite wall, staring out at the cloudless blue of the sky. "Can I be alone for a little while."

The largest part of her time in the hospital was spent the same way, broken up by visitors and attempts at reading that always resulted in her staring back out that window, trying to adjust to her new reality—one where she was physically weak and mentally not much better; one where the apocalypse was over, or at least her part in it; one where she was finally at rest, but not the way she thought she'd be.

The night of the inauguration, she'd prepared to be alone and hoped not to be. She had _thought_ she was ready for the possibility of not having Tom in her life anymore, the probability that they would be leading two separate lives, but the near-death experience had shaken all of her certainties, and the absence of Tom now was… something like a second wound.

She wanted that to not be true, spent her time alone telling herself that it couldn't be true, but even when she accepted Tex's invitation to stay with him and Kathleen until she was back on her feet, she spent most of her time pacing the length of the apartment, a thunderstorm hovering above her head.

She needed a project, maybe, or to be _working_ , but she was _recovering_ and so expected to rest and be _leisurely_ and it was all absolutely impossible. Rachel wasn't built for leisure at the best of times, and her preoccupation and impotence made the cabin fever all the more grating.

It was after weeks of this, on a night when Kathleen was out with friends and Tex was in the living room occupying an arm chair, ostensibly reading but more focused on watching her pace back and forth, back and forth, that she finally stopped in her tracks and turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

"Well?"

He shifted in his chair. "I don't think it would be appropriate."

"Say it."

After watching her a moment longer, he said, "I could help you with that."

Planting her hands on her hips, she said, "What?"

He motioned his hand to indicate the length of her body. "That restless energy."

"You could help me, by…?"

He shrugged, his face blank, and she raised her eyes to the ceiling, lifting her chin. She took in a deep breath, her shoulders rising and then falling again, and shifted her jaw to one side before looking back down at him.

"It would only be sex," she said flatly, and his eyes widened, an inhale catching in his throat and choking him, spurring a fit of coughing. She smiled a little, the first time she'd smiled in what felt like a month, and added, "If we can stay friends."

"Yeah," he croaked out, squashing the cough down into his chest and raising a hand to his face to smooth over his beard. "That—I don't have a problem with that."

She crossed the room, her step a little too quick, a little too eager, but she couldn't help it, her frustration too close to the surface. Without hesitating, she climbed up onto the chair, her knees pressing into the cushion on either side of his legs, her good hand bracing on the headrest, while he practically shoved himself back into the chair, staring at her in amazement.

With a calculated confidence, she bent her elbow, settling down onto his thighs and leaning in until their hips and chests and lips were all aligned, an inch apart, and then she held still.

"Holy shit," he whispered, his breath brushing her lips, and she smiled again, feeling good and sexy and confident and so ready to stop obsessing for five damn minutes. She let her lips brush against his on their way to his ear, her hips shifting forward to meet his, and she didn't mean to moan directly into his ear but it certainly suited her purposes.

"What do you think?" she murmured. "Should I fuck you right here on this chair, in the middle of your living room?"

He groaned, hardening under her, his hands coming up to wrap around her waist as she hooked her arm around behind his neck and ground down on him. He half-laughed, breathy around another groan, and said, "The condoms are in the bedroom."

"Okay," she whispered, pulling back to look at him. "Fuck me in the bedroom, then."

"Jesus _Christ_ , Rachel."

She grinned, pushing back off the chair and onto her feet, reaching her good hand down for the hem of her tank top before she'd even turned around, naked by the time she got to the side of his bed and tossing her wadded-up clothing into a corner of the room. He was hopping from foot to foot behind her, trying to get his pants off without face-planting on the floor, and she kneeled on the bed, her head cocked as she waited patiently for him to put the condom on and lie down so she could straddle his waist.

She felt good, sexy, as she swept her hair to one side and stared down at him, his eyes wide and blinking rapidly, looking up at her in _awe_ , and she felt powerful, felt desired, and if he noticed that she wouldn't kiss him on the mouth he let it slide, pressing his mouth to her breast instead. She was giving him what he wanted, and taking what she needed. It was a win-win.

In the morning, they woke up on opposite sides of the bed to a sharp series of bangs on the door.

"I know you're both in there!" Kathleen said loudly from the hall, and Rachel snorted a laugh before turning her head to look at Tex without moving her body.

He rolled his eyes over his own smirk and yelled back, "What!"

"I'm making breakfast. You'd better have a damn good excuse!" She stomped off down the hall, and Rachel rolled the rest of the way over, holding the sheet to her chest.

"What's our excuse?"

"I mean…" Tex shook his head. "Hormones?"

Rachel laughed, tugging at the sheet until she could wrap it around her body and then picking her clothes up from the corner, poking her head out the door and checking down the hall before hurrying in the other direction to her room.

Kathleen wasn't actually angry; she liked Rachel, and she was a teenager. As long as she could roll her eyes and make snarky remarks, she was satisfied.

For her part, Rachel did feel better. The sex was good, and if Tex was at all bothered that it was _just_ sex, he didn't show it. She could finally think about something other than Tom's absence.

She could even, wonder of wonders, focus long enough to get lost in a book, which was exactly what she was doing one evening when all three of them were camped out in the living room, Kathleen in the arm chair and Rachel with her head resting on Tex's leg on the couch.

Tex's cell phone rang, and he frowned at the caller ID before putting it on speaker. "Commodore."

Rachel froze, her blood running cold and her breath stopping in her chest.

There was a long silence, and then Tom's voice said, "How is she?"

Tex had one hand on Rachel's back, and she could feel his whole body tense up as that hand curled into a fist, next to her spine, before he said tightly, "I don't think that's any of your business."

"Can I speak to her?"

"No," Tex said sharply, not giving Rachel a chance to react, and she sat up beside him, pulling her knees in close to her chest.

"Why don't you let her decide?"

"Why don't you _fuck off?_ " Tex hung up the phone and dropped it on the floor, huffing out an angry breath, and Rachel leaned into his chest, ducking her head under his chin as he brought his arms up to wrap around her. "I'm sorry, darlin'," he said softly, and then there was a banging on the front door and Tex shot a look to Kathleen, who got up to answer it.

"Whoa, dude!" they heard her say loudly, and they were both looking toward the entrance to the living room when Tom came storming in.

He stopped short at the sight of them, his mouth dropping open, and Rachel instinctively shifted closer to Tex even as she stared back at Tom, not breathing.

It hurt to look at him, a sharp jolt of pain first and then that ache, the one she'd almost gotten past that was now back in triple force. She winced, turning her face back toward Tex, and heard Tom say, "You rat bastard."

She looked up at Tex to find him staring down at her, both of them frowning, and she shifted away from him, implicit permission to stand up and face Tom.

"What the fuck, man?" Tex said, and Tom stepped forward, taking a swing that was way wide and threw him off balance, and that's when Rachel realized he was drunk. Tex, obviously, didn't have the same perspective, and fired back immediately with an uppercut to the jaw.

Tom went down, and Tex stood still for a second, confused, before Rachel got up from the couch and murmured, "He's drunk," kneeling beside Tom on the floor and feeling his jaw with her good hand. Kathleen went into the kitchen for a bag of frozen peas, handing it off to Rachel before Tex asked her to please go hang out in her room.

Rachel pressed the bag to Tom's jaw, keeping her eyes focused there so she didn't have to see him staring up at her, just staring and staring. It still hurt—she kind of wanted to cry—and she looked over her shoulder at Tex, her eyes imploring for him to take over. He did, immediately, rubbing her back with one hand as he knelt down and took her place.

Rachel stood up, her chilled hand going to her forehead and rubbing, halfway across the room when she heard Tom say, slightly muffled, "You son of a bitch."

"What the hell did I do, man?"

"Bro code. You knew I loved her."

Well. Rachel wasn't going to make it any further just then, so she sank down into the corner of the couch and curled up into a tight little ball.

"You can't be serious," Tex said bitterly. "You abandoned her in the hospital. You left her alone."

"I didn't. You were with her."

"So you abandoned her with me and that somehow makes it okay? And now you're pissed because after, did I mention, you _abandoned her in the hospital_ , now she's finally, finally actually moving on from you? You're a sick piece of shit."

"No, I…" He sounded confused, and fell silent for a moment. "I actually came here to apologize."

"It's a little late for that."

"Tex," Rachel said, and he looked up at her. She waved her hand, a vague gesture that he immediately knew meant _give us a minute_ , and he got up from the floor, walking over to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Yell if you need me," he said, staring at her with a serious, worried expression, and she nodded. He walked off down the hall, and Tom levered himself up off the floor, sitting heavily down on the couch.

Rachel didn't move from her corner, only shifting slightly to face him. It still felt difficult to breathe. "What are you doing here, Tom?"

He didn't look at her, staring down at his hands in his lap, the bag of peas abandoned on the floor. "I had to apologize."

"You didn't, actually. You could have stayed away. That would have been kinder."

He looked up, then, seeking her eyes with a frown, and she ducked her head, her hand coming up to rub her temple and shield her face.

"You especially didn't need to come drunk."

"I tried it sober. I've been trying for weeks."

She dropped her hand but kept her face down, motioning with her hand for him to continue.

"I'm sorry, Rachel. I'm so sorry. When I found you in that pool of blood, my heart stopped. I thought I'd lost you—I thought I'd lost the woman I loved for the second time in a year. I was terrified, and I know it isn't an excuse—I know that what I did was inexcusable. I just—I thought that you would be safe with Tex, and I would be safe away from you. I thought I would be a better dad. I could give my kids all of me, and—it was selfish, I won't pretend it wasn't. Somehow I thought it was the right thing to do at the time."

Closing her eyes, she swallowed hard, reminding herself to breathe even when those breaths shook and trembled on their way into her chest, probably because she was shaking and trembling, her hand gripping her knee with white-knuckled force. Finally, she said weakly, "Were you?"

"What?"

"A better dad?"

He was silent for a moment. "I couldn't stop thinking about you. I was… no. I was miserable, and every day that went by, it seemed more impossible to fix." He stopped again, and she could feel him staring at her even as she kept her eyes tightly shut. "It was a mistake, Rachel. A really stupid, horrible mistake… spurred by fear. I… I'm too late, aren't I?"

She glanced at him, saw him staring off down the hall, and turned to look longingly in that direction. Tex was safe. Tex didn't hurt her, didn't make it hard to breathe. She didn't love Tex, and not loving someone made life so much easier. She was used to it.

If she wasn't in love at all, maybe she could have chosen Tex. Instead, she turned back and waited for Tom's eyes to be on her before shaking her head. His eyes widened, and she winced. "I don't know if I can ever trust you again."

"Do you want to try?"

Pressing her lips together, she bit down on them, dropping her chin close to her chest. She closed her eyes, and nodded, and Tom exhaled loudly.

"Okay. I'll do what I have to do, Rachel. I won't leave you again."

Funny how empty those words sounded now. She glanced down the hall again, wishing she hadn't been stupid enough to fall in love in the first place. Not that she'd ever wanted to. Not that she could have stopped it if she tried.

"I don't think Tex will ever forgive you," she muttered, and he stood up, calling down the hall, "Hey Tex!"

Emerging from his room at the end of the hall, Tex approached warily, looking from one of them to the other. Rachel kept her head down, and Tom held his hand out to shake.

"What're we shaking on?" Tex asked.

"We both have Rachel's best interests at heart," Tom said, and Tex raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Starting now," Tom added.

Tex looked to Rachel again, and she peered up at him, shrugging her uninjured shoulder. He took a step forward, meeting Tom's hand cautiously with his own, and then said, "We'll see about that."

He walked Tom out the door, and Rachel stayed where she was on the couch, swallowing hard over and over again, waiting for Tex to sit back down beside her so she could curl into his side and cry and cry. He wrapped his arm around her, rubbing her back in silence, and when she'd calmed down a little she said, "I'm giving him a chance." He didn't reply, and she shook with a fresh wave of tears. "Am I an idiot?"

"No, darlin'. We both know Tom's a good man. If you're willing to give him another shot… well, he's a lucky bastard, but no, you're nothing close to an idiot."

"I'm sorry," she said softly, into the fabric of his shirt, and he rubbed his hand up and down her back again.

"You have nothing to apologize for. I _will_ kill him if he hurts you again, though."

She sighed, all cried out finally, and said, "Thank you."

"Any time."

She still slept in his bed that night, needing all the comfort she could get, though it went unspoken that they wouldn't be sleeping _together_ anymore. She kind of wanted to start crying again at that—not that the sex was that good (although it was pretty good), but it had been exactly what she'd needed when she'd needed it, and it still broke her heart a little that she couldn't just be with Tex. Simple. Easy. Reliable.

Her heart was the real bastard here.


	2. Chapter 2

_xx_  
 _The perfect place may never exist, may never exist._  
 _The perfect time might be years and years away.  
xx  
But I still want to be here, want to be here._  
 _I still want to be here, want to be here._  
 _And I would live in a devil's ditch just to be near you._  
 _I still want to be here, want to be here.  
xx_  
Still Want To Be Here | Frightened Rabbit

The next day, as usual, Tex went to work and Kathleen went to school and Rachel had the apartment to herself. Around midday, she was sitting cross-legged on the couch with a notebook and a pen, making notes about her recovery and physical therapy, when her phone buzzed at her side and she glanced at the screen.

 **Tom:** _Hey._

She inhaled in surprise. Tex must have put Tom's number into her contacts before things had gone bad. She stared at the phone until it went dark, and then it buzzed again.

 **Tom:** _Thinking about you on my lunch break._

 **Tom:** _Same way I do every day._

 **Tom:** _Feels good to finally be able to say that._

 **Tom:** _That's still so selfish of me, isn't it?_

 **Tom:** _I just want you in my life._

 **Tom:** _If I can make you happy._

 **Tom:** _Only then._

 **Tom:** _I just want you to know that._

She let the phone go dark again, waiting to see if he was finished, then picked it up and weighed it in her hand.

 **Rachel:** _Okay._

Dropping the phone back onto the couch, she dropped her face to rest on her palm.

The next day, when he sent a _Hey_ , she sent _Hi_ back. Almost immediately, he replied with, _How are you?_ and Rachel was momentarily stumped. Physically, she was much improved but still not exactly _great_. Emotionally, she was… beyond words.

 **Rachel:** _Alive._

 **Tom:** _I'm glad to hear that._

 **Tom:** _I don't know if this… if you'd want to hear this_

 **Tom:** _But I did keep tabs on your condition_

 **Tom:** _I know it doesn't count for much_

 **Rachel:** _No._

Her phone didn't buzz again until just after five.

 **Tom:** _When you're ready… or I guess if… I'd like to make you dinner. We need to talk properly, face to face. I know there's a million ways I need to prove myself to you… but at least a few of those have to be in person. Whenever you're ready._

 **Rachel:** _Okay._

Poor Kathleen was heartily bewildered by the whole turn of events. Tex may have ranted to her about Tom a few times while Rachel was still in the hospital, but she didn't have anything close to the whole story. Mostly she just knew that Tom had stormed into their home, gotten knocked to the floor by her dad, and then left, and now Rachel was sad all the time.

When Rachel and Tex were sleeping together, Rachel had started to come to life again, laughing with them at the dinner table, and now she was back in her own little world, bewildered in her own right, her mind always somewhere else.

They gave her time, gave her space, Tex and Kathleen both, but they also watched her with worried eyes, hurting for her in their own ways.

Rachel was used to being alone, didn't really know how to be a part of a household (she wouldn't say family) while working through her own shit. She tried not to worry about it. She was in recovery, after all. Tex got it, and Kathleen was patient. She just hated… being this way. Being in this situation. Feeling this way. Everything, sometimes.

The daily lunch hour text conversation became a routine.

 **Tom:** _Hey._

 **Rachel:** _Hi._

 **Tom:** _My last good memory of you was your smile as you walked away down that hallway_

 **Tom:** _I don't think I'd ever seen you smile so many times as on that day_

 **Tom:** _Every time it took my breath away_

 **Tom:** _Your smile… God. If I get to see it again, I'll never take it for granted_

 **Rachel:** _Okay._

Even on the weekend, he texted her at the same time every day.

 **Tom:** _Hey._

 **Rachel:** _Hi._

 **Tom:** _I'm looking forward to cooking for you_

 **Tom:** _Not to brag… but I've picked up a few things_

 **Tom:** _My Saturday morning pancakes are phenomenal_

 **Tom:** _Do you like pancakes?_

 **Rachel:** _Yes._

 **Tom:** _Good._

Tuesday:

 **Tom:** _Hey._

 **Rachel:** _Hi._

 **Tom:** _Ashley got an A+ on her book report_

 **Tom:** _She's so happy_

 **Tom:** _I can't wait for you to meet them_

 **Tom:** _You're incredible with kids_

 **Tom:** _It's like you hand over your whole heart every time you spend time with them_

 **Rachel:** _Is that where my heart went? I've been looking everywhere._

She had to give him credit for persistence. She certainly wasn't making it easy.

On Friday, the message didn't come, and she sat there on the couch tapping her pen on her notebook, pretending she wasn't waiting. Halfway through the hour, her phone buzzed.

 **Tom:** _I'm sorry – meeting went long. Somehow "I have to eat lunch alone at my desk right this minute" wasn't convincing enough to hurry it up._

She almost smiled, her stomach twisting, and tapped her pen on her book a few more times before writing back.

 **Rachel:** _I think we should have that dinner._

 **Tom:** _Name the date._

 **Rachel:** _Sunday? 7pm?_

 **Tom:** _You got it._

It seemed like a good idea to plan it in a few days, give herself time to get used to the idea, but instead it just ramped her nerves all the way up and she resumed her obsessive pacing.

On Sunday, Tex drove her over and dropped her off at the entrance to the building. She clutched his hand the whole way over, and stayed in the car for a minute staring at the building.

Bringing her hand to his mouth, he pressed his lips to her knuckles and said, "Call me any time. You can go down to the lobby if I'm too far away."

"Yeah," she said, squeezing his hand and looking back at the building. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Yes. I'm sure."

She sighed, giving him a grateful smile and finally stepping out of the car. The elevator ride was interminable, and Tom seemed just as nervous when he opened the door for her. He led her into the kitchen, sitting her down at the table, and offered her a drink.

She accepted a glass of water and then said, "Can we talk first?" Her stomach was in knots; she didn't think she'd be able to eat.

"Okay." He sat down across from her and she stared down at the table's surface, pressing her fingertips against the wood and watching her knuckles go white.

"You said that you loved me," she said softly.

"Of course."

"We weren't… there… were we?"

He hesitated a moment. "In that hotel hallway, when you turned and smiled at me… I wouldn't have said it, no. Not then. But… I thought, with the war over, we would have time to figure it out together. Then you were flying out in the morning, and I thought we'd have time to figure it out separately. Then… gunshot."

She inhaled slowly. "You found me."

"I thought you were dead," he said matter-of-factly. "You looked dead. I thought I was too late, again. I'd failed, again. You'd died without me—just like Darien—I wasn't there—maybe if I'd been there I could have stopped it—I wasn't there—I'd failed you—just like I failed her—I couldn't—"

He was having a panic attack, his breaths short gasps as he spoke between them, and Rachel was at his side before she knew she'd moved, kneeling on the floor and rubbing her good hand between his shoulder blades.

"Okay," she said calmly, "you're okay. I'm here. I'm fine, I'm alive, you saved me. You didn't fail me. I'm here."

When he'd calmed down enough to breathe normally, he dropped his face into his hands, and she stayed there at his side, sliding her hand down to his bicep, rubbing over the material of his shirt.

"You really were terrified," she said softly, and he nodded into his hands.

"I had to be there for my children. I'm all they've got. I thought if I could just… if I could protect them… I thought maybe I could do _that_. If I couldn't protect you. If I couldn't protect Darien. I had to keep them safe."

"What changed your mind?"

He dropped his hands to his lap and she reached for one of them, wrapping her hand around his. He looked at her and said, "That was—it wasn't rational. When I got some distance, I knew it was wrong, but by that time I didn't know how to apologize. I left you… that's all that matters. I left you."

Looking down at their hands, she said, "If that's all, why are we here?"

"Because I love you," he said, on an exhale, like the words were just waiting in his lungs, "and because I'm selfish. I can't let you go."

"And you won't leave me again," she said, still staring at their hands.

"Right."

"Even if I end up in the hospital."

"Especially then."

"Even if…" She winced, squinting her eyes almost shut. "…I had sex with Tex?"

He didn't say anything, and after a minute she peered up at him to find him almost not-quite smiling. "I already called him a son of a bitch."

"True."

"Are you still sleeping with him?"

"No!" she said, a bit defensive, raising her chin and meeting his eyes in full, and he squeezed her hand, nodding.

"I know. I don't care about any of that. I'm here, I'm staying."

"Okay," she whispered, her eyes dropping down again.

She shifted on her knees, the hard floor biting into her flesh, and leaned her weight on the only hand she had free, pressing down on his thigh and trying to stand with some amount of grace when her legs had lost all circulation. She wobbled, and Tom kept his grip on her hand, letting her brace herself, but she still managed to rock forward, colliding with his legs, and before she knew it he'd wrapped his other arm around her waist and tugged her onto his lap to keep her from falling face-first into either the table or the floor.

"My hero," she said faintly, her head fuzzy as the blood reorganized itself in her body. She separated her hand from his, wrapping her arm around his neck instead and tugging herself more securely onto his lap as she straightened her legs out in front of her. "Ow."

"After all that," he said quietly, his forehead resting against her cheek, "you went and knelt on the kitchen floor for me."

She wanted to deny it, make an excuse, but the fact was she'd knelt on the kitchen floor for him and she'd do it again, so she just hummed her assent and closed her eyes, accepting her fate. Even though she'd ended up in his lap by accident, she didn't particularly want to get out of it. She'd spent so much time wanting his arms around her, and while it wouldn't be quite so easy for her to forget what had happened, she was a lot closer to forgiving him.

Would she rather it had never happened? Of course. But seeing his emotions, his fear—she felt at least a partial understanding. They'd both been through so much, some truly terrible things, and blaming him for his trauma wouldn't serve either of them.

This wouldn't be easy, but it never would have been. She wanted him—she wanted this—and she almost believed him when he said he wouldn't leave again. Almost.

Her stomach grumbled, and he nudged her gently to her feet, keeping a hand on her waist until he was sure she was stable. She went back to her chair, and he went to the oven, serving her a dinner that they ate in silence, trading looks filled with a desperate vulnerability, a yearning that she couldn't hide even if she wanted to.

When he walked her to the door, she hugged him, wrapping her arm around his back and leaning up against him for far longer than any reasonable hug should last, and then he walked her down to the driveway, standing with his hand at her lower back until Tex pulled up and they waved goodbye.

She stared out the window on the drive back, feeling Tex's concerned glances on her.

"You don't look like you've been crying," he said, and she smiled briefly over her shoulder at him.

"I think it's going to be okay," she said back, her stomach twisting at the audacity of her optimism.

Coming back to her room after brushing her teeth for bed, she checked her phone and found a notification.

 **Tom:** _Sleep well. I love you._

 **Rachel:** _Goodnight, Tom._

The next few weeks were filled with baby steps, and Rachel felt like she was at the wheel of a running car, sitting on the brake and taking her foot off of it for a half-second at a time, inching forward. She wanted to leap, wanted to run, wanted to barrel past all this in-between, but she knew that the foundation they'd built over the entire length of time since they'd met had had cracks shaken into it, cracks they were ever-so-slowly attempting to fill with lunchtime text conversations and one solo dinner a week.

The first time she kissed him, they'd moved to the couch after dinner, sitting close and talking about Tom's kids, how they were adjusting to the new city and new school and life without their mom.

"I told them about you, of course," he said quietly. "Every day, they ask for a new Rachel Scott story; how she broke me out of a jail cell; how she took a case of the cure onto the streets of Baltimore to save sick children; how she tested the contagious cure by taking an infected child into her arms…" His voice was thick with emotion, and Rachel ducked her head, frowning down at her lap.

"They're going to be disappointed to meet me if you keep filling their heads."

"Not possible," he said softly, and she glanced up to see the look in his eyes that was beginning to feel familiar, the look that she knew was love and was gradually beginning to _believe_ was love.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she raised her hand to his cheek and leaned in to kiss him, closing her eyes and pressing her lips to his for a handful of seconds and then sitting back, eyes still shut and heat rising to her cheeks.

"When you're ready to meet them," he said, as though nothing had interrupted their conversation, "they'll find you just as I've described you."

"Okay," she said, what had become her favourite way to acknowledge something he'd said that she wasn't quite ready to agree with.

He didn't mention the kiss, their text conversations carrying on as normal, and when Rachel arrived for dinner a week later she kissed him as soon as the apartment door shut behind them, her hand pressed flat to his chest and his hands coming to rest at her waist. She drew it out this time, just a little, kissing him slow and soft and then stepping back and letting him lead her into the kitchen.

They chatted over dinner, almost a normal conversation, and then moved to the couch afterward as was their routine, and she immediately leaned into his side, her hand going up to curve around the back of his neck as she kissed him again. He wrapped his arm around her waist, his other hand cupping her jaw, and kissed her back just as gently.

There was no reason to stop, so she didn't, leaning up against him and learning his mouth like the streets of a city she'd always longed to visit. His touch on her was so careful, so delicate she could have cried, but instead she scratched her nails lightly through his hair and tilted her head, her tongue sliding past his teeth.

When she finally pulled back, keeping their foreheads together as she rested her weight on her arm, over his shoulders, he whispered, "I missed you," and it didn't really make sense—they'd never done this before, he couldn't miss the reality of this—but somehow she knew exactly what he meant and felt the same.

It was different now, an undercurrent of sadness and regret that she wasn't sure they'd ever erase completely, but they were getting closer to the place they should have been in, if things hadn't gone so wrong, and it was starting to feel as deeply right as it had in that last moment before the gunshot. She knew she loved him—she'd been forced to realize that very quickly after she'd woken up in the hospital—and being with him, finally, finally, _finally_ , filled her heart up in her chest.

Turning around, she settled back down onto the couch, her back against his chest and his arm around her waist. She laid her arm over his, her hand resting on top of his, and tipped her head back into the curve between his shoulder and his neck. "I'm—" she started, and then paused and took a deep breath. "I'm happy," she said, and heard him inhale behind her.

"I love you," he said quietly, and she squeezed his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

_xx  
You're here like a silhouette when the darkness rules,  
you're the brightest moon, and I am safe.  
The story binds us like right and wrong,  
your hand in mine, marching to the beat of the storm.  
And we walk together into the light  
and my love will be your armour tonight.  
We are lionhearts.  
xx  
_Lionheart | Demi Lovato

She floated through the next week, her focus shot again but resulting now in a dreamy middle-distance stare, as far from her anxious pacing as it was possible to get. Tex and Kathleen traded looks, moving around her, but the atmosphere was loose and positive, everyone quietly hopeful in their own way.

That Sunday, they didn't make it into the kitchen. Rachel kissed him at the door, walking him backwards until his back was against the wall, and pushed up on her toes, wrapping her arm around the back of his neck. She kissed him until she was dizzy and then settled back on her heels, blinking up at him until her vision cleared.

"Can you say it one more time?" she asked quietly, and he stared at her. "One _last_ time," she amended, and his hands tightened on her waist.

"I won't leave you again," he said, matching her tone, and then the words that she never would have accepted or wanted to hear before this very moment: "I promise."

Her lips curled up just slightly as she kissed him again and then said, "Bedroom?"

He frowned. "Are you sure?" She narrowed her eyes and he grinned. "You're sure," he corrected, kissing her again. "Of course you're sure."

Taking her by the hand, he led her down the hall to the bedroom, and at the side of the bed they kissed again, Rachel's hand slipping under the hem of Tom's shirt and smoothing up over the skin of his back. She pushed at the fabric ineffectually with her one good hand, and Tom took pity on her, pulling the shirt off himself.

While the kiss was broken, Rachel took a moment to admire his chest, tracing her fingers over the muscles and then pressing her lips to his skin, the flesh hard under her caress as she kissed down his abdomen, bending her knees and then tugging just as ineffectually at the waistband of his pants.

She frowned up at him and he smiled again, shaking his head and drawing her back upright.

Releasing her hand, he motioned to her sling and said, "May I?" and she nodded. With gentle hands, he unfastened her sling and slipped it off of her arm, before very carefully easing her shirt off. Before touching her bra, he met her eyes again, and she nodded again, holding her bad arm close to her chest as he unclasped the bra and slipped the straps down over her arms.

He didn't stop, didn't gawk, just picked her sling up again and tucked her arm into it, fastening it again and running his hands down her back to her waist.

She loved him, God, she loved him, and as he stilled and waited for her next move she surged up to kiss him again, her hand pressing flat on his stomach as she walked him back toward the bed. It hit him at the knees, forcing him to sit, and she leaned down to whisper, "Take your pants off."

He did so, Rachel's own pants easy enough for her to remove with one arm, and Tom reached over to the bedside table for a condom. She stood in front of him as he put it on, and now he did gawk, staring at her body as he tried to put the condom on without looking away from her for one second. Once he got it, he reached for her, his hands on her waist as he brought her forward and kissed her, first her belly and then moving up to her breast.

Her breath caught in her chest, her eyes falling shut and her body swaying forward automatically as she kept her hand braced on his shoulder and locked her knees against the sudden weakness in them. She couldn't bear the tenderness in his touch, choosing instead the ache between her legs, shifting forward and kneeling on the bed over his lap, kissing him properly as she eased herself down on top of him. A whimper caught in her throat as he groaned into her mouth, and her hand slid down his back, bracing herself and holding his body close to hers.

With their foreheads pressed together, he whispered, "I love you," and she said, "I love you too," just to see the look on his face. It was worth it, as he pulled his entire body back to stare at her in amazement and she grinned in response, utterly thrilled.

"I love you," he said again, and she laughed, kissing him and saying against his lips, "I love you too." He groaned again, and she rocked her hips, her hand gripping at the back of his neck as she instructed herself to breathe and then rocked again, seating him deep inside her before pushing up, her forehead meeting his and her breaths panting against his lips.

It was breathtakingly intimate, their upper bodies pressed together and their faces never more than a few inches apart. Even with her eyes closed, Rachel could feel his breath on her skin as his fingers dug into the flesh on her hips, and the build-up was so easy, pulling a cry out of her as she came. She rode him through his own release and then settled on his lap again, their foreheads pressed together as they steadied their breathing.

"I love you," she said one more time for good measure, and he laughed what almost sounded like a sob. She drew back to look at him, his eyes closed and his eyelashes wet, and then pressed her lips to his cheek, stroking the side of his face.

After another minute, he took a deep breath, his hands sliding up her back, and said haltingly, "I missed you—so much."

"I know," she murmured back, her hand still moving soothingly over his skin. "I know."

They ate dinner in silence, much like that first night except that now the weight in their gazes was altogether different. Tom still looked at her with longing, but it wasn't hopeless anymore, and she could return a smile, an attempt at reassurance.

He drove her home and Rachel paused in the hallway with her key in hand, trying to school her face. She could wipe the smile off her face but she couldn't do anything about the light in her eyes, and she knew that as soon as Tex saw her he would know.

Walking into the living room, she found him waiting up on the couch, a book in his lap, and he looked up and smiled—stopped smiling for a second—and smiled again as she folded herself into the opposite corner of the couch. She smiled back, relieved, and he dropped his book onto the floor and held his arm out to her, letting her curl up against his chest.

"I'm proud of you," he said, and she laughed. "I'm serious. Forgiveness is a beast. Hard as hell and not for the faint of heart." He paused, just as she was getting ready to squirm under the prospect of praise, and then went on, "Possibly harder still for a girl who's stubborn as a mule with walls around her heart seven foot tall and made of granite."

"Okay," she said, mock huffy, sitting up beside him and meeting his eyes. "What about you? Ready to break bread?" He raised an eyebrow and she looked down, shifting her jaw. "I have to meet the kids. I thought maybe we could… have them over for dinner. I know this isn't… I'm a guest here, but I thought…"

"Sure, darlin'," he said quickly, and she gave him a dry look, which he returned. "Yeah, I'm still pissed, but it's not about me."

"You were friends," she said regretfully.

"Yeah, and maybe we will be again. I imagine I'll be seeing more of him than I'd like whether I forgive him or not." He thought a second, then added, "Of course, if he'd step into a boxing ring with me, we could probably work it out right quick."

"He probably _would_ ," Rachel replied. "He just wouldn't hit you back. If you feel like beating the tar out of a man who won't fight back…"

"Take all the fun out of it, why don't you," Tex grumbled.

They planned the dinner for Friday night, with Tex cooking and everyone showing up in clothes far too formal for a family dinner. Rachel opened the door for Tom and the kids, accepting flowers and a kiss from Tom and greeting the children nervously before sending them into the living room with Kathleen and following Tom into the kitchen.

While Tex turned away from the stove to face off with Tom, Rachel skirted around them to find a vase, eyeing them warily.

"Tex," Tom said with a nod, stopping in the middle of the room and putting his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

"Captain," Tex said back, a wooden spoon in one hand and the other curling into a loose fist at his side.

"Thank you for being there when I wasn't," Tom said frankly. "I owe you…" He glanced over to Rachel, meeting her eyes and then looking back at Tex. "More than I can possibly say."

"Yeah." Tex turned back to the stove, sticking the spoon back in its pot and stirring. "You do."

There was no malice in it, and Rachel smiled, leaving the flowers in the sink as she walked over to Tom and patted her hand on his chest, leaning up to kiss his cheek and then ushering him out of the room. Walking up behind Tex, she laid her hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek too, saying, "Try to be kind," as he ducked his head away and blushed.

"I'm tryin'," he muttered, and Rachel went back to the flowers.

When she had them arranged (and had maybe stalled a minute or two pretending to arrange them), she carried the vase out into the living room and joined the others. The kids had settled in a little, chatting with Kathleen and relaxed with their dad in the room, and when Rachel sat down Ashley turned to her and said, "So, you're dad's Rachel?"

She couldn't help but grin at that, glancing over at Tom before turning back to Ashley and saying, "I suppose I am."

"He talks about you _all_ the time, and I mean _all_ the time. It would be really annoying—"

"Ashley!"

"—but the stories are so cool! Did you do anything _other_ than kick butt and save people's lives?"

Rachel pretended to think about it for a moment, and then actually had to think about it when she didn't come up with anything on the first pass. "I slept," she said eventually, "and ate. Other than that, yep, kicked a lot of butt." She laughed. "I'm a doctor, though. Most of what I did was in the lab and caring for patients."

"Which is still pretty cool," Ashley insisted. "You cured us! You cured practically the whole world."

Rachel squirmed a little, smiling and dropping her eyes, and said, "I didn't do any of it alone. I was lucky to have a great team, and _none_ of it would have happened without your dad. I bet he doesn't tell you half as many cool stories about him kicking butt, does he?"

Ashley rolled her eyes. "If you ask him, he followed along behind while everyone else did all the work. Maybe…" She glanced at her dad and back at Rachel. "Maybe you could tell us stories sometime. To make up for all the stories he's told about you."

"I like that idea," Rachel said, smiling.

Sam, who had been sitting shyly quiet beside his sister, spoke up now to say, "Yeah! He doesn't tell us _anything_ unless it has to do with you. Which is great," he hastily amended, "but we must be missing a lot."

"I might have to leave the room for storytelling time," Tom grumbled from his seat in the corner of the room, and Rachel turned to smile reassuringly at him. Of course, he wouldn't want to relive his own traumas over and over again, might not even be able to turn them into stories, into words. Of course, he would deflect and make it about tooting his own horn rather than flashbacks and panic attacks and a creeping terror that Rachel was all too familiar with.

"Don't worry," Rachel said, "I won't force you to listen to tales of your own heroics. That would absolutely ruin your self-effacing reputation." The kids stared at her blankly and she added, "I mean, your dad is very modest. We should definitely _not_ praise him for anything ever."

"Hey now," Tom said mildly, "you can praise my cooking all you want."

Rachel and Ash and Sam all giggled together on the couch, and Rachel felt a tightness loosen in her chest.

Tex called them for dinner, and the kids swapped school stories with Kathleen at one end of the table while the adults sat at the other in a moderately tense silence.

"So…" Rachel ventured, "I was thinking about possibly getting my own place…"

Tex and Tom looked at her with matching frowns and she almost laughed. They were far too similar to be at odds this long.

"You don't particularly want to live alone, do you?" Tex asked, which was extremely valid.

"Are you recovered enough?" Tom asked, which also held validity.

She looked to Tex first. "It's not that I don't love living here," she said, "but… I'm going to need more privacy, you know." She couldn't help the blush that heated her cheeks at that, so she turned to Tom and said, "I'm getting stronger and my physical therapy is going well. I believe I'm ready."

"You'll always be welcome back here, day or night," Tex said, and Tom glanced at him before saying essentially the same thing with slightly more emphasis.

She stared down at her plate, a little overwhelmed, and then Tex said, "I can talk to the building manager if you want—" and Tom interrupted with, "I think my building might be more—" and Tex bit back with, "She's comfortable _here_ —" and Rachel felt frantic and uncertain and pulled apart and before she could think better of it she'd bolted from the room, crashing through her bedroom door and collapsing on the bed.

The room was dark and she pressed her forehead to the comforter, gulping breaths and trying to slow them, trying to convince herself she wasn't going to die or pass out.

Someone walked into the room and shut the door and she didn't know until he sat down beside her and lifted her head gently into his lap that it was Tom. He rubbed her back, murmuring soothing nonsense, and she clutched at his knee, taking deeper and deeper breaths until she was slightly dizzy but calmer.

"We make quite a pair," he said quietly.

"Panic attacks for all," she said back, ironic tone muffled by the fabric of his slacks. Sighing, she sat up, tucked under his arm as she kept her knees folded up in front of her. "You have nightmares?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I have nightmares."

"Me too. The only time—" She stopped short, her hand covering her mouth, and he angled his head to look down at her questioningly. "Um," she said, curling her hand against her cheek. "The only time they weren't as bad was when I… wasn't sleeping alone."

He pressed a kiss to her temple, skipping over the implication there. "I'm sorry it's complicated. I would much rather the both of us sleep peacefully together."

"This is why I need my own place."

"Okay." He rubbed his hand up and down her arm as she rested her chin on her knees. "You wanna delegate that decision to me and Tex?"

She huffed a laugh. "As much as I love the idea of you and Tex working together, I somehow don't see that ending well. No, I… just give me a few days. I'll figure it out."

"Take all the time you need."

Stretching her legs back out in front of her, Rachel slid to the edge of the bed and turned to offer him a smile and her hand.

"You wanna finish your dinner?" he asked, taking her hand and standing up.

"Not particularly. I can eat later. Unless you're starved."

"Nah, I'm fine," he said as they walked back out into the living room where Tex and the kids were on the floor gathered around the coffee table, playing some card game that involved a lot of yelling and hand-slapping.

Everyone looked up at once and Rachel gave a half-smile, raising their clasped hands and wigging her fingers in an approximation of a wave.

"You guys wanna join?" Tex asked, his eyes on Rachel, and she met his eyes and squinted a little, making sure he knew her smile was for him too.

"Not me," Tom said, walking over to the arm chair and sitting down. Rachel perched on the arm beside him, her good arm across his shoulders for balance, and he looped his arm around her waist. By the time the game was over, she'd slipped down off the arm and into his lap, falling asleep with her head on his shoulder.

He carried her to her bed and she woke up just enough to say, "I hope your kids don't think I'm…" She was too sleepy to come up with a proper conclusion to that sentence, finally going with, "Bonkers."

"I'll make sure to ask them when we get home," he replied quietly. "'Hey kids, did Rachel seem kind of bonkers to you?'"

She breathed a laugh, still mostly asleep. "Text me what they say."

"Okay," he said soothingly, stroking a hand over her hair. "Goodnight, my love."

She sighed, her lips curling up into a smile, and was asleep again before he left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** _That last chapter was too happy, right? Eek. Stay with me here._

* * *

 _xx  
Where everything starts with your kiss,  
didn't I do it all for the nights like this?  
xx  
When the light is so bright, you get a little bit, little bit blinded.  
When you're lifted so high, falling feels like flying.  
When you're lost in those eyes, it feels like you might be gone forever.  
So one last kiss, then let it end on a night like this.  
xx  
_Nights Like This | W. Darling

Saturday morning, Rachel woke up to a text from Tom that said, _My dad's happy to take the kids if you feel like having a sleepover tonight_ , and sent back six grinning emojis. She went to the breakfast table smiling, a smile that was contagious for both a sleepy Kathleen and a bewildered Tex.

"I'm sorry we acted like children last night," he said gruffly.

"The day I expect you to act like an adult, Tex, is the day I return both of my PhD's _and_ my MD."

He gaped at her, looking at Kathleen and then back at her. "That was _cold_."

She grinned, scrunching up her nose and sticking the tip of her tongue out between her teeth, and he smiled back, shaking his head.

"Did you make a decision?"

"Not yet. I'll give his building more of a look when I'm over there tonight."

Tex traded another look with Kathleen and said, "Hence the good mood?"

"I'm always in a good mood," she said angelically. "But you shouldn't expect me home until tomorrow."

"We won't wait up," Tex said, wiggling his eyebrows at Kathleen, who wiggled hers back.

"Right." Rachel stared down at her plate, decidedly _not_ blushing. "Speaking of children," she muttered, which was admittedly unnecessary, and Tex cleared his throat in an attempt at reclaiming his dignity.

"You're not _wrong_ ," he said a moment later, and she smiled at him.

Tex drove her over at six, and she shared a casual dinner with Tom and the kids, who were excitedly chattering about the day they'd spent playing soccer with the other kids from school in a nearby park.

After Jed had picked them up and Tom was putting the dishes in the dishwasher, he said, "You wanna watch a movie?"

"Hmm." She was watching his arm muscles flex with the simple motions of reaching up to the counter and down to the racks of the dishwasher, and thinking about the muscles still concealed by the thin cotton t-shirt he had on. "Maybe later."

He glanced up at her with a smirk and she smiled back, and when the kitchen was tidy she stood up and took his hand, leading him into the bedroom. She turned to him, and before he could even lean in to kiss her she was pushing his shirt up with her good hand, tugging insistently when it was blocked by his arms and then sighing in satisfaction when he pulled it off over his head.

Her eyes were locked on his muscles as she traced them with her fingers again, and he said, "Are you objectifying me?"

"You wouldn't look like this if you didn't want to be objectified," she murmured, not looking up, and he gasped in mock outrage.

"Maybe I just like to be strong."

She held her arm out to the side and flexed her bicep, saying, "Me too," and then watched his muscles as he reached for her arm and leaned over to kiss it. Finally, she met his eyes again, smiling and letting him kiss her as his hands found the clasp on her sling.

They went through the same process of undressing and then Rachel nudged him back onto the bed, motioning for him to move back and lie down, and then she crawled onto the bed and knelt beside him to kiss him properly. With her hand braced on his chest, she felt his muscles shift as he reached between her legs to stroke her, groaning at the feel of her as she gasped against his mouth.

She stayed there a minute or two, her forehead pressed to his cheek and her fingers curling against his chest, and then slid away, moving to straddle his hips and groaning first at the stretch it took to kneel over him and then the stretch as he filled her.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, and she nodded, her head bowed forward as she let her body adjust.

She rocked against him, letting her mouth drop open, and then he drew his legs up behind her and she gasped again, leaning forward with her hand on his chest and raising unfocused eyes to his face. He kept his knees bent behind her, his feet planted on the bed, and all she could do was rock, the angle almost exactly perfect, everything lining up and she rocked, and rocked, and came, the arm that was holding her up trembling as she panted over him.

When their eyes met again, they were both filled with some kind of awe, and Rachel reached up to brush her hand over the side of his face before nudging him to flip them. Her back to the bed, she crossed her legs briefly behind his hips, both of them groaning as he was drawn even deeper, and then released him to find his own rhythm. She was sensitive enough to come a second time, and then he shuddered over her, his head dropping toward the pillow and his breaths harsh next to her ear.

A moment later, he rolled over onto the bed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his chest. She couldn't move, really, sinking into the bed and laying her hand on his forearm. They were on top of the blankets, so Tom pulled away briefly to tug the bottom corner up over them, wrapping his arms back around her.

"You're pretty good at that," she murmured when she could form thoughts again.

"That was all you," he murmured back, forehead resting against her cheek.

"Oh right," she laughed. "One-woman sex goddess, that's me."

"Yeah."

She hesitated. "Very funny."

"Not a joke."

She fell silent, closing her eyes and hoping that maybe if she never spoke again she wouldn't have to deal with compliments. At all. In any way. Ever.

"Should we ask Tex?"

Her eyes popped back open and she shifted away just enough to turn her face and look at him. " _Not_ funny!"

His eyes were smiling, though his mouth barely twitched. "Am I forgiven enough to make awful, inappropriate jokes?"

Raising her hand to his cheek, she skimmed her eyes over his face before meeting his eyes fondly. "You're safe," she said softly. "You wouldn't have said it if you didn't know that."

"Gotta test my boundaries sometimes, right?"

"Yes, if you're a four-year-old."

He did smile, then, belying his words as he said, "Okay, my ego can't take much more."

Dropping her chin slightly, her eyes on his lips, she replied, "I believe this conversation started with _me_ complimenting _you_."

"Fair enough." He kissed her, his hand sliding to the small of her back as she rolled to face him and smoothed her hand down to cup his jaw. It was a lazy kiss, neither of them picking their head up from the pillow, and so easy and comfortable that it somehow looped back around to being too much, too much, and Rachel pulled away, their foreheads resting together again.

"How about that movie?" he said, and she sighed.

"I don't suppose it's bedtime."

"Not unless you want to be up with the birds."

She thought for a second. "Do we have to get out of bed to watch the movie?"

Smiling, he tipped his chin forward to kiss her once more before craning his neck up slightly to glance around the room. "I have a laptop around here somewhere. Do you want popcorn?" He turned and slid to the edge of the bed, standing up and walking to his dresser, and Rachel watched the naked back of him as he pulled out a pair of pyjama pants and put them on. When he turned back around, she was still staring, and he raised his eyebrows. "Want a t-shirt?"

"Yes, please."

He tugged one out of the same drawer and tossed it across the room to her, and she sat up and stretched her arms up over her head, letting the sheet fall away from her body. Dropping her arms, she picked up the shirt and looked across to see Tom staring back, his mouth slightly open, and she smiled, slipping the t-shirt over her good arm and then over her head. It was nicely oversized, soft cotton, and best of all it smelled like Tom.

"Um," he said, still staring even though she was very modestly covered now. "Popcorn?"

"No thanks. What are we watching?"

He managed to shake himself from his stupor, finding the laptop in a bag by the door, and he dropped it on the bed as he said, "I'll go look, but I'm pretty sure it's mostly action movies and kids' stuff." Reaching one hand up to the back of his neck, he rubbed at it with mild bashfulness. "We haven't… had a woman here…"

"Makes sense," she replied, her hands in her lap, the sheet covering her crossed legs. "Not action." She thought about her fingers wrapped around the grip of a handgun, the easy give of the trigger and the kick of the shot. She couldn't help a shudder. "I don't mind if it's a kids' movie, just something light."

"I'll see what I can do." He crossed back to the bed, planting one hand on the mattress as he leaned over far enough to kiss her, and then turned and left the room and she felt _alone_ for all of five minutes, his absence sharp in the pit of her stomach even as she tried to breathe through it and ignore it, and then he was walking back into the room with a DVD case in his hand. "Looks like we had one Hallmark romance hidden away at the back of the shelf, and—" He turned the cover toward himself, then toward Rachel. "It has dogs. Will that do?"

She smiled, missing the need for a response as he smiled back automatically and she watched him, breathing slowly into the swell of her heart and the flutter in her belly. She watched him as he came back to the bed, sliding in to sit next to her and set the laptop up in front of them, watched his face as he focused on the screen until he turned to meet her gaze questioningly and she kissed him.

 _I've never loved anyone like you_ , she didn't say. Imagine saying that out loud, flaying her chest open for his close inspection. Just thinking it, she felt a vice grip her heart, squeezing out all the air that had filled it one moment earlier. Her chest tightened, her breaths struggling in and out, and she tried to focus on the movie, tried to relax against his side like it was nothing.

She pretended to fall asleep near the end of the movie, going limp and measuring her breaths. He eased her down to the mattress, tucked the blanket in around her, and left the bed for five minutes before crawling back in beside her and curling his arm around her waist.

It was only the need to buy time that allowed her to keep her breaths slow, avert a full-on panic attack until he'd fallen asleep and she could slide out of his arms, out of the bed, picking up her clothes and closing the bedroom door behind her. As soon as the door was shut, she fell to her knees, her chest crushed under a weight and the tears coming unbidden. She wept and gasped for air in utter silence, finding her phone in amongst her clothes and drawing up Tex's number.

Stumbling toward the door, she hit the call button, dropping to the ground again as it rang.

"Rachel?"

"Can you—come get me?"

"Are you okay?"

"Please."

"Five minutes."

She tugged her pants on under the oversized t-shirt, wrapping the rest of her clothes up into a little bundle and using it to wipe her face. She didn't want to be seen in public like this, but neither could she stay there and risk Tom finding her. It was after midnight—she prayed for empty halls as she pulled the door open and headed for the elevator.

By the time she made it to the outside doors, he was already idling in the driveway, and she burst into tears again as soon as she spotted him. Climbing into the passenger seat, she pressed her head to the glass of the window.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," she said, half a sob, and he pulled away from the curb.

Back at the apartment, he sat her down on the couch and wrapped a blanket around her before making her a cup of calming tea. He handed her the mug and she bent her head over it, inhaling the steam as he sat down beside her and offered his arm. She shook her head—she needed her knees pressed to her chest, a protective shield.

"What happened?" he asked again, and it was obvious he thought Tom had done something, his voice tight and his jaw tensed.

She shook her head again. "Nothing. Honestly, nothing. It was perfect." She hiccoughed a sob and breathed the steam in, taking a sip of the tea. "I shouldn't have—I got so caught up in forgiving him that I forgot I'm the one he should be protected from."

"What in hell are you talking about?"

She blinked, tears knocked loose to fall into her tea. "I'm not—I can't—I shouldn't have tried."

He sat back, watching her, and was about to speak again when her phone vibrated.

 **Tom:** _Are you okay? Where are you?_

A whimper escaped her throat, like a scared puppy, and she hated it.

 **Rachel:** _I'm at home. I'm sorry._

 **Tom:** _Did I do something? Are you okay?_

 **Rachel:** _You didn't do anything. I just need a minute to think._

When she looked back up at Tex, she gestured with her phone and said, "Isn't this evidence enough? What more do you need to know?"

"You got scared. That doesn't mean—"

" _I ran_."

He shook his head, never taking his eyes off her. "So run back. Apologize. Try again."

"And run again. It's pointless. I know myself too well."

"You are being extremely frustrating," he said gently.

She shrugged, staring down into her mug. "Do you really have room to talk."

"Look around. The apocalypse changes us all. I'm settled."

"You don't have a choice."

He snorted. "No matter what I say, you're gonna twist it. People change, Rachel. End of story, they change. You are not the same person you were a year ago."

"Maybe that was the mistake."

Planting his hands on his thighs and pressing back into the couch, he closed his eyes and inhaled slowly and Rachel thought he might be about to straight-up murder her. "I need to sleep. Can we try this again tomorrow?"

"Whatever," she muttered down at her mug. "I'll be here."

He stood up, walking over to press a kiss to the top of her head, and she waited for him to turn away before drawing her shoulders up around her ears, curled into the tightest possible ball. Safe. Alone.

When she finished her tea, she went to bed and stared at the ceiling for six hours. She wanted to be safe, but she had no reason to believe she wasn't safe with Tom, and in fact many reasons to believe the opposite, so what was the problem?

It hurt to be vulnerable. Even when she knew rationally that she was safe, it hurt to hold her heart in her hands and expose it to the elements. If she was alone, she could stay behind her walls, build her fortress up taller and not think about it, focus on solid things like work, puzzles for her brain and not her heart. Be alone. Be safe.

Be lonely. Let her heart shrink and shrivel in her chest, unused. Be safe. Wasn't she too old and set in her ways to start over now? But she'd already done most of the work, she'd already fallen in love and said all the things out loud, she'd accepted it, hadn't she? She'd spent months hurting over it when it was _his_ choice, fought with herself and come to terms with it—was that all so _she_ could throw it away now, make it _her_ choice?

Be in control, be safe, be alone, spend the rest of her life wondering what might have been and loathing herself for destroying something good. Maybe it wouldn't always be good, but it was now. Was the gratification of making the end her choice worth the risk of feeling sick with regret the rest of her life?

No. That was what it came down to. Hate herself and make him hate her, or… wait. Be vulnerable. Try something new. Stop running.

Stop running. Stop running. Stop running.

When she heard Tex's shower turn on, she rolled over and reached for her phone.

 **Rachel:** _I wonder what the post-apocalypse psychiatric situation looks like._

 **Tom:** _Can I come over?_

 **Rachel:** _Yes._

She switched to Tex's conversation window.

 **Rachel:** _Can you send Tom in when he gets here?_

 **Tex:** _I take it you had a change of heart?_

 **Rachel:** _Yeah._

 **Tex:** _Good girl._

She sneered at her phone, rolled her eyes, then dropped it back to the bed and pressed her face to the pillow, closing her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

_xx  
'Cause I want to be with you, but I need a place to start;  
I'm surrounded and captured by the armies of your heart,  
and I feel so alive, so I sing, and I hope you've realized:  
I will stay here, safe and sheltered in your palm,  
'til it's time to wing towards the sun.  
xx_  
Armies Of Your Heart | Elizaveta

Tom knocked softly on her bedroom door before easing it open and peering inside. She met his eyes, offering a small wave, and he stepped inside and shut the door, walking slowly over to the bed with concern on his face.

"Did you sleep at all?" he asked, and she shook her head. He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, reaching for her automatically before thinking better of it and stopping halfway. "Me neither," he said, and she caught his hand in midair, holding it on the mattress near the midpoint between them.

"I don't—" she started, her voice catching from lack of use and the remnants of last night's tears. She cleared her throat, and said, "I don't know how to… be vulnerable. To choose that instead of fighting it. I don't…" She closed her eyes. "…know if I can do this."

He watched her for a minute, then said quietly, "Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head, looking at him and tugging his hand just a little bit closer. "You've been perfect. I don't deserve you."

"You do," he said back, voice quiet but firm. "There isn't one thing on this earth too good for you."

Her heart hurt, and she couldn't help but smile even as her eyes filled up with tears. When they spilled over, he picked up his hand and cradled the side of her face, brushing his thumb through the tracks and then leaning in to kiss her gently on the lips. She hooked her hand around the back of his neck before he could pull away and sighed into the kiss, her chest loosening and heart breaking free of the vice that had gripped it.

It wasn't ever going to be easy, she knew that—but she needed this. She couldn't throw it away out of fear. She just could not do that.

"So," she said when she finally let him go, "I need to find a psychiatrist."

Blinking his gaze away from her lips, he met her eyes seriously. "Okay. I should do that too."

"Quite a pair," she said, her lips quirking up ironically.

"I'd rather do this with you than do anything else with anyone else."

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Tex's voice came through the door.

"We're heading out, Rachel."

"Okay, have a good day!" she called back, and then lowered her voice again to ask Tom, "Do you need to get the kids?"

"Jed will keep them." He said it evenly, a non-issue, but Rachel was hit by guilt, closing her eyes again.

"I'm sorry."

"They're with family, safe, happy. It's the perfect time to focus on you."

"I shouldn't—I don't want to interfere with your life, not if I'm making it worse."

He slid forward on the edge of the bed, closer to her head so he could stroke her hair and then rub her back. She looked up at him, her face pinched, and he moved his hand to smooth over the lines of her face, pressing gently at the frown and pout until she closed her eyes in peace instead, breathing slowly.

"One day is not going to make my life worse. Neither is one night of missed sleep. It… I… The only thing that would make my life worse… is not having you in it."

Eyes still closed, she nodded.

"Even then, if it was best for you, I would survive. If you would be happier without me."

She blinked her eyes open, meeting his, and he swept his thumb across her cheek, cupping the side of her face.

"Is that the case?"

Her lips curled up, just slightly, and she shook her head, and he smiled back, closing his eyes for a second and exhaling in relief. Leaning over, he pressed his lips to her forehead and then her mouth again, lingering there with soft, chaste kisses that simply said again what had already been said in words.

"Think we've got a chance at a nap?" Rachel asked a moment later, and Tom glanced to the other, empty side of the bed. "I know I cheated you out of your sleepover. Would you like to nap with me?"

"I would like nothing more," he said, and after Rachel got up to use the bathroom (and furtively apply a little deodorant since panic attacks followed by sleepless nights were not the most fragrant combination), she crawled back into bed and settled her head on the pillow, waiting for Tom to slide in behind her. He curled his arm around her waist, palm flat against her belly, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head as she breathed in, deep and slow, relaxing against him.

"I wish," she said on her exhale, and felt him hold his breath behind her. She pressed back slightly, from her shoulders to the small of her back, conforming her body to his. When she sighed, another deep breath in and out, she focused on how much easier it was to breathe with him there. "I guess fear is a part of life," she went on, "but I hate being afraid. I'm tired of it. I want to be brave."

"You're the bravest person I know," he said quietly, and she closed her eyes as the rumble of his voice came through her back, "and I feel the same way. You know that, right? I'm scared, too."

Her eyes welled again and she pressed them tightly shut, allowing the tears out only in traces, wetting her lashes without touching the rest of her face. She covered his hand with her own and he turned his wrist, holding her hand in his palm.

"If I could take it from you, I would. But I can hold your hand, when you need me, if it helps."

"It helps." She blinked her eyes open, taking her hand back briefly to press the pillowcase against them before closing her eyes and turning her face into the pillow, pressing back again, just slightly. Tom's arm tightened on her waist in response, his hand closing around hers and his chin lowering to rest on the top of her head, and she breathed out, "I love you."

"I love you too," he murmured back, and she sighed one more time, turning her mind to sleep.

She slept like a rock, her body desperate for rest, and woke abruptly several hours later. Though every part of her body weighed her down, begging to stay in bed, her primitive brain was awake and she knew she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep.

Turning in Tom's arms, she found him awake and quietly watchful, and groaned, ducking under his chin to press her forehead to his chest.

His laugh vibrated against her skin, and then his words: "Sleep well?"

"Yes, but my body does not appreciate me dangling the carrot of a full night's sleep in front of it and then snatching it away. My body is displeased."

"Your body's pretty talkative, huh?"

"I'm a doctor," was her muttered defense against his teasing tone, not that it meant much.

"What's your body say about the concept of food?"

She straightened up, putting her head back on the pillow, and blinked slowly at him. "Undecided."

"When's the last time you ate?" he asked quietly, and she dropped her chin, her lips pressing together.

Of course, it had been when they'd shared dinner with the kids, and at this point, that was… almost twenty-four hours. She didn't feel hungry, but exhaustion and adrenaline both suppressed hunger signals, so that was no surprise.

There were parts of the past twenty-four hours she would probably want to keep, but it was hard to see them around the parts she would slice out with a scalpel if she could.

"I was thinking we could go downstairs and walk until our bodies wake up enough to feel hunger, and then eat," he said, and she nodded. "Either wear what you're wearing or change quickly, because we really do need to get some food in you."

So no shower, but she did go to the bathroom and brush her teeth, put on more deodorant and a fresh shirt, and tie her hair back in a bun.

On the elevator ride down, she slipped her hand into his, and by the time they walked out the front doors she was gripping it tightly. The sun was just beginning to set, and people were walking every-which-way along the sidewalks, picking up groceries and bringing children home from parks and some, she supposed, just out for a walk, the same way they were.

There was nothing wrong, no threat—in fact, it was almost idyllic—yet Rachel's heart was pounding, her stomach churning, and she realized after a moment that she was repeating a mantra of _it's okay it's okay it's okay_ in her head.

Turn right out of the glass exit doors— _it's okay it's okay it's okay_ —start down the sidewalk with the sun at their backs— _it's okay it's okay it's okay_ —join a stream of people walking walking walking— _it's okay it's okay it's okay_ —keep her eyes trained on the ground and her hand tight around Tom's— _it's okay it's okay it's okay_ —and then Tom was holding a door open for her, leading her into a dimly lit hall and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

He was rubbing his hand up and down her arm, and after a moment she blinked at the floor and looked up at him.

"That was a bit much," he said.

"Yeah."

"You wanna try to eat?"

"Sure."

She felt a bit distant, a bit removed, as he led her through the hall and into a small restaurant, low lighting and quiet chatter and straight lines. Looking at the menu, she found it was an Asian fusion restaurant and felt a wave of relief as she sought out familiar favourites, miso soup and garlic chicken with broccoli, the thought of the food calming her.

Eyes still on the menu, she drew in a slow, deep breath and exhaled before closing the menu and looking up at Tom across the table. He did the same, and returned her smile when she offered one.

"Where did all those people come from, anyway?" she asked wryly, sliding her hand across the tablecloth to wait at the side of the middle, palm up, for Tom to take it.

"It's a lot to take in," he agreed, tone gentle and eyes watchful. "Everything's centralized, so where there's people, there's a lot of them. We could try driving a bit further out, walk where it's a bit less dense."

That sounded good, and she nodded. "You'd think I'd be used to it, being on the ship for so long."

He frowned slightly. "That was months ago, and before. Some things I never would have expected feel completely different now. Go easy on yourself."

"You're okay though."

The waiter came over to take their orders and the conversation paused until he'd walked away again, then Tom said, "I've also been in the world going about my daily life while you've been recovering from a serious bullet wound. But even if that weren't true… would you please go easy on yourself? You don't have to be okay right now."

She raised her eyes, squinting at the wall above his head even as she smiled a little at his tender words. When she met his eyes again a moment later, she shrugged her good shoulder and said, "I'll try."

He just smiled at her, still holding her hand, and she smiled back.

Once they'd finished their meal and made it back upstairs, Tom paused to the side of the apartment door and leaned his back up against the wall. He didn't reach for her, but she stepped into the space between his feet anyway, leaning up against him and resting her forearm on his chest. He looked down at her, smoothing his hands down her back to rest on either side of her hips, and she stared up at him, neither of them moving for a moment.

"We should reschedule our sleepover," she said eventually, and he nodded.

"That would be good."

"I'll…" She dropped her eyes to his chin, pressing her lips together briefly. "…try not to run away again."

"That would also be good," he said gently, "but at least if you do, I'll know why."

"Acknowledging in advance that you disagree," she said carefully, before looking up to meet his eyes again, her eyes soft and brow slightly furrowed, "you're too good for me." She paused, and corrected, " _To_ me," but she wasn't sure whether it was actually a slip in the first place.

Without looking away from her, he drew in a deep breath through his nose and sighed it back out, before saying, "I love you."

She smiled, her eyes dropping to his lips as she slid her hand up around behind his neck, pushing up on her toes and saying, "I love you too," before kissing him. His hands moved to press firm at the small of her back, holding her against him, and even though the longest she might possibly go without seeing him was one week, she kissed him like it was the last time she'd be lucky enough to do it.

When the empty space in her felt full, she dropped back to her heels and rested her forehead against his chest, breathless. Her hand stayed at the back of his neck, her thumb smoothing over the curve of his skull, and he kept his arms around her until she looked up again and stepped away.

Fishing her keys out of her pocket, she unlocked the door and then looked up for one more kiss, smiling into it as Tom cradled her face in his hand and then said, "Goodnight, sweetheart," waiting with his hands in his pockets for her to step inside and close and lock the door behind her.

Then she pressed her forehead to the wood, her heart feeling too big for its place inside her chest. It still hurt, which she found unfair—that happiness should hurt, and loving, but she could look at it now as a healing wound. When you first pressed the edges of a wound together, and threaded stitches through, it hurt so much that you wanted to tear out the stitches and let it heal wide open, but if you held on through the worst of it, there would come a turning point, and eventually the skin would be bonded once more, only occasional jolts of pain to remind you it was there.

She felt him in her heart already; the healing had begun, and tearing him out now would be to tear a half-healed wound open, or remove an artificial valve that the body had already grown around.

Why the hell was she thinking in medical metaphors, anyway? She loved him. He loved her. Thank God, thank God he loved her.

"Is that you, Rachel?" Tex's voice called from the living room, and she called back a rough hello before clearing her throat and poking her head through the doorway.

"I'll just fix up a pot of tea," she said, and gestured in a way that meant, _would you like some?_ He shook his head, holding up his bottle of beer, and ten minutes later she joined him on the couch, curling up in her corner with a steaming, fragrant mug.

"So that's all taken care of," he said, watching her, and her face split automatically into a grin that she attempted to tame, dropping her chin and angling her face away.

"You were right," she said without preamble, "and Tom was right. Kathleen was probably right about something at some point too. I don't mind admitting my mistakes."

"Yes, you do."

"Yes, I do, but not in this instance. I didn't want to be right." She stared down into her mug. "Although…"

He huffed. "What?"

"I don't necessarily think I _was_ wrong," she said to her tea. "That is to say, sure, it's worth the risk. It's worth making an effort and letting it play out. But if… however this ends, it will… it _will_ be my fault." She shrugged her uninjured shoulder, not looking up. "I know he loves me, he wants _me_ , but he deserves better."

That last was murmured, her shoulders drooping over her mug, and she was surprised a moment later when Tex was in front of her, holding her by the upper arms and ducking his head to catch her gaze.

"Rachel," he said firmly. "You are a beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, loving, caring, incredible, _incredible_ woman. You have flaws because everyone has flaws, but trust me when I say that if el capitan had to find someone better, he would be searching a long, long time."

She pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes until they were almost shut, staring hard at his cheek. The corner of his mouth ticked up, one of his hands sliding down to her forearm, his thumb rubbing gently at the skin there.

"You want that? To send him off on a search for the perfect, better-than-Rachel-Scott woman?"

She glared up at his eyes, holding a stubborn frown for all of three seconds before her smile twisted at her lips. "Of course not. I've already told you—"

"Hmm, yeah, that was real convincing. Try this: I am _more than_ good enough for a dude who's really just aggressively decent, and he is _lucky_ to be loved by me." He blinked at her, expectant, and she shook her head, grinning. "I am…" he started again, encouraging, and she tipped her head to the side.

"I am more than good enough," she repeated reluctantly. "Not gonna say that part. And he… is lucky… to be loved by me." Her stomach twisted, and she breathed deep into it, trying to resist the urge to take it back.

"Very good," he said approvingly, like a primary school teacher. "Now, do I need to write that down for you, or will you remember it?"

"You're stupid."

He raised his eyebrows. "Say it again, then."

Heaving a sigh, she mumbled quickly, "I am more than good enough and he is lucky to be loved by me."

"One more time."

"I am more than good enough and he is lucky to be loved by me _and I hate you_."

Smiling, he pushed up on the knee he'd folded under him and pressed a scruffy kiss to her forehead before getting to his feet. "If you forget, I'll remind you. Goodnight, darlin'."

"'Night, Tex." She finished her tea and went to bed, exhausted enough to sleep even if she did still have far too much on her mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** _This is the final chapter and there will be an epilogue!_

* * *

 _xx  
I can understand it but it's so hard to fake,  
when you're staying undercover no one sees your mistakes.  
I've just gotta be tough, I've gotta be brave,  
no more walking away or playing it safe.  
I know I'll figure it out, I'm finding my way—  
gonna make it out on my own, no I got to, I gotta be brave.  
xx  
_Nice Girls | Repartee

The next morning, Monday, she called her primary care physician and asked for a referral to a psychiatrist, texted Tom, and did her physical therapy exercises. He texted back around his usual time, happy for her, and she told him that Tex had started in on her.

 **Tom:** _How so?_

 **Rachel:** _Trying to convince me I'm actually too good for you instead of the other way around._

 **Tom:** _I should buy him a beer._

 **Rachel:** _Ha ha._

 **Tom:** _Not a joke._

 **Tom:** _Think he'd go for it?_

 **Rachel:** _If I ask him to, yes._

 **Rachel:** _He won't necessarily be nice about it._

 **Tom:** _Worth a shot._

On Friday, Tex and Tom met at a bar after work and Rachel waited in the living room. She started out on the couch with a cup of tea, which lasted about three minutes before she was up and pacing the hall again. It almost felt nostalgic.

When she heard Tex's key in the lock, she froze in her tracks, twisting at the waist to watch the door with wide eyes. He stepped in first, seeing her immediately, and then waved Tom in and in Rachel's direction.

"She does this," Tex said.

"What exactly is she doing?"

"Pacing."

They watched her with nearly-matching smirks, and a giant grin broke across her face, giddy with relief.

"You two ganging up on me?"

Tom stepped forward then, his smile turning soft as he took her hand in his and said, "Never," before leaning in to kiss her.

She pressed up against him briefly, then ducked her head and stepped away, looking for Tex and feeling a blush heat up her cheeks. He'd stepped into the kitchen, apparently, so Rachel looked back up at Tom, her hand still in his, and said quietly, "How was that?"

"A work in progress," he said back, reaching his free hand up to brush her hair back from her face, the backs of his fingers smoothing over the skin of her cheek as her eyes drifted shut. "Not bad."

She smiled again, a rush of hope lifting her heart, opening her eyes to find him watching her closely.

"We're on the same side here," he said, and before she could stop herself she said confidently, "Mine," and he nodded. "Yours."

Tom went down to wait in the car and Rachel walked into the kitchen, leaning on the counter near where Tex was beginning to prepare dinner.

"So," she said, and he looked up, smiling when he met her eyes.

"So," he said back. "Baby steps."

"Yeah? Like one beer a week baby steps?"

He raised his eyebrows and she did the same, then he turned back to his task and said, "Not if it's going to set you off pacing again."

"Pacing is good for my calves," she said, pushing off the counter and leaning to press a kiss to his cheek. "I'll tell Tom you're in."

He grumbled quietly to himself as she walked away, picking up her overnight bag by the door and heading downstairs to meet Tom.

Back at his apartment, which they had to themselves, Rachel stepped ahead of him into the foyer and then turned and backed him up against the door, wrapping a fist in his shirt and pushing up to kiss him hard. He pressed one hand to the small of her back, the other slipping through her hair to curve around the back of her neck.

She stretched further, higher up on her toes, her hand tugging slightly on his shirt, and then he slid both of his hands down to her thighs, lifting and turning to press her back to the door, her legs wrapping around his waist, and she tipped her head back against the wood as he kissed down her neck, kissed the spot where her moan reverberated from deep in her throat.

Her hand was grasping now, fisting in his shirt and tugging it up, and he pressed one knee to the door, his hips pressing tighter into hers, holding her in place so he could free his arms and ditch the shirt, and all of that at once was a lot, Rachel's fingers curling against his chest, nails biting as her hips sought pressure and friction, groaning in frustration when it wasn't quite right.

She reached for his belt, then, and he gasped, "Rachel."

"Please," she said, almost whining. "Fuck me here."

"Babe," he said, mouth open and breathless against her collarbone, "I will fuck you anywhere you want, but not with your pants on and not without a condom. I can put you down here or I can put you on the bed. Your choice."

"Or," she said, bringing her chin back down and scraping her teeth over the knob of his shoulder, "you could get creative and figure out how to do all of that without putting me down."

He smiled against her skin, an answering nip to her collarbone, and said, "I'm strong, but I'm not an acrobat."

She sighed, kissing the spot she'd scraped and then kissing over and up to his mouth, reluctantly unwrapping her legs and sliding down to put her feet on the ground. "It's sexier in the movies."

He still had her pinned against the door, and he dropped his chin and gave her a _look_ until a slow smirk crept across her mouth. "Get your pants off, and we'll see how sexy it gets," he said finally, and she slipped around him and off down the hall to the bedroom.

She went for the nightstand, first, grabbing a condom from the drawer, and then he came up behind her and slid his fingers past the waistband of her pants, tugging them down and letting her balance with a hand on his shoulder as he pulled them off one foot and then the other. Then she turned, and he picked her up again, stepping over to the wall and pressing her up against it, only waiting for her to be stable before wrapping his arms around her thighs from the other side and easing down onto his knees.

"Oh, Jesus," she breathed, her head tipping back against the wall as he draped her legs over his shoulders, his hands smoothing up from her thighs to her pelvis and back again, and he stopped there. When she looked down, he was staring up at her, waiting for her okay, and her hand grasped desperately at his shoulder as she said, "Please, God, yes," and then let her head fall back again as he moved forward to taste her.

His tongue was firm and soft, his shoulders steady under her even as she writhed against his mouth, pressing her back to the wall and her nails into the flesh of his shoulder. Despite her bravado and demands, her cries were mewling and desperate, her breaths gasping, and when she came he supported her full weight, staying on his knees and stroking his hands over her skin, over the trembling muscles of her thighs and stomach, until she straightened back up against the wall, breathing deep into her belly.

He stood up carefully, repositioning her legs to around his waist, and kept one hand bracing one of her thighs as he raised the other one to her face, smiling as she dropped her chin to face him. "Hi," he said, and she returned his smile.

"Hi," she said back.

"You good?"

Drawing in another long breath, she blinked very, very slowly. "I would say so." She trailed her hand from his shoulder, down over his chest and between her own legs to tug at the waistband of his pants. "How about you?"

He grunted, shifting on his feet, his fingers splaying the length of her neck and his thumb stroking over the corner of her jaw. He didn't say anything, and she laughed, tugging harder on his pants.

"Would you prefer to move to the bed?"

His hand tightened on her thigh and he leaned in, his nose brushing against her ear before he said into it, very tenderly, "You're the one who wanted to be fucked against a wall."

She whimpered, his words sending a jolt straight to her core, and her fingers curled more fully around his waistband. "Stop stalling, then," she whispered back, and he chuckled against her ear, releasing her thigh with caution and then reaching for his belt once he was sure she was sturdy.

In seconds, he'd dropped his pants and put on the condom—and Rachel wasn't even sure when he'd gotten ahold of it or how he'd hung onto it all this time—and she shifted against the wall, flexing her thighs lower on his hips.

He pressed one hand flat against the wall, the other back on her thigh, and his voice was tight when he said, "Okay?"

"Go on, then," she said softly, reaching down to guide him inside her, tilting her hips to the best angle, her breath catching in her chest again as she arched back against the wall and he pushed deep inside her.

Once he'd gone as far as he could, he slid his hands around behind her hips, gripping her sides and keeping her tailbone away from the wall as she pressed her shoulders to it. He pulled out and pushed back in, slow and easy, and Rachel squirmed slightly.

"If you're going to fuck me against a wall," she said, and had to pause a second to keep her laugh out of her voice, "please," pause, breath, " _fuck me_."

He leaned back just enough to see her face, one corner of his mouth ticked up in a smirk, and she widened her eyes at him, raising her eyebrows. "All right," he said gruffly. "The lady wants what she wants." He paused there a second, like he needed to reorient himself, and then slid out and back in with more force, building up a faster, harder rhythm until his fingers were digging into her hips to keep her from slamming into the wall, his thrusts driving into her and both of them panting, gasping.

Her orgasm hit her just as hard, her nails raking through his hair and down his neck, scraping over the tensed muscles and then digging in, holding on tight as her body quaked between him and the wall. He gasped a moment later, his body going rigid and his head falling forward, forehead pressed to the wall just beside her ear, his breaths harsh but satisfying as she brought her hand back up to the back of his head, stroking over his hair.

When he came back to himself he moaned, pulling out of her and wrapping his arms fully around her back, stepping over to the bed and laying her down before collapsing onto the sheets at her side. She rolled toward him, her hand smoothing over the muscles of his back, petting him as he lay on his belly with his cheek pressed to the bed, eyes closed.

After a moment, she noticed the raised red tracks from her nails and said, "Oh dear," tracing over them with the pads of her fingers. "I might not have been quite so nice."

His lips curled up even as his eyes stayed closed, and he said, "Nobody asked you to be nice."

"Interesting." She leaned up to press her lips to the scratches, then laid her cheek on his shoulder blade and draped her arm across his back.

"You might wind up with some hand-shaped bruises on your ass," he murmured, and she giggled as he worked his arm out from under her and stroked it over her back, "so we'll consider it a fair trade."

A moment later, he turned under her, cradling her against his chest, and said, "Hungry?"

She hummed, her cheek pressed to his skin. "Starved, actually. But…" She sighed. "Food is so far away."

"I can bring it to you," he said, his tone amused, and she set her jaw, shaking her head determinedly.

"I'll not have you waiting on me hand and foot, it's bad enough I let you cook for me."

He was silent for a moment, then said, "What the hell kind of boyfriends have you had?"

Pushing up from his chest, she tilted her head, eyeing him thoughtfully. She'd never dated under her father's roof, and then she spent an eternity in school, too focused on becoming the doctor and scientist she needed to be to commit time and emotional energy to building a relationship. She would go on casual dates sometimes, even two or three of them in a row, and she'd occasionally find someone sexually compatible and low-stress enough to spend nights with regularly.

According to Quincy, that was what Michael was, too. She wasn't sure about that, but she wasn't too sure the word 'boyfriend' would apply, either. She hadn't been in love, though she'd loved him dearly.

Breaking it down like that, she suddenly had a more generous understanding of her freak-out the other night. Had she really never had a proper boyfriend? Had she never been _in love_? Shouldn't that have been something she was aware of?

She was lost in her own head, shaking it slowly back and forth, when Tom squeezed her arm gently, getting her attention again.

"Rachel…" He trailed off and she thought he might be getting the wrong idea, plotting out worst case scenarios, so she smiled softly.

"I'm used to being independent, you know that. I'm working on it, okay?"

He stared at her a moment longer, trying to read her, and said evenly, "I'm working on giving you the world, so we'll have to meet in the middle somewhere."

Laying her head back down, she tapped her index finger on his chest, thinking about it. "What if I start cooking for you? Make it more fair."

"Honestly, I don't care about fairness. I'd rather cook for you and bring it to you in bed and wait on you hand on foot—that would make me happiest—but if fairness is your priority, then of course, if that would make _you_ happiest."

She smiled a little, flattening her palm and smoothing it over his pec. "I guess…" she started, hesitant. "I guess I am still recovering…"

He swept his hand up her back from her waist and back down again and she could hear the smile in his voice when he said, "Mmhmm…" And then, more serious, "If I leave you here, will you be here when I get back, or should you come into the kitchen with me?"

Fair. She was bound, almost guaranteed to think too much if she stayed in bed alone. "I'll come with you," she said, sitting up, and waited for him to toss her another t-shirt. She wrapped her good arm around herself while he put on pants, and then he drew her up off the bed and wrapped his own arms around her, holding her close to his chest for a long moment before leading her into the kitchen.

Rachel sat down at the kitchen table while Tom moved to the stove, and she was just watching him move around the kitchen when he looked over his shoulder and said, somewhere between careful and casual, "How are you feeling?"

He kept doing what he was doing, giving her the space to answer, and she stared at him and breathed slow, deep into her belly and back out again. She had a choice here—she could default to a baby step, tell him that she was okay for now and end up stringing him along, nervous that she would change her mind. Or she could say out loud what she knew was true, what she couldn't say out loud the last time they were here, the fear she let take control.

"I love you," she said, and he looked back over his shoulder, smiling in surprise. "I'm not going anywhere."

He froze for a moment, facing the stove but looking at her, and then crossed the kitchen in slow strides, taking her hand and drawing her up out of her chair and then holding her hand and staring at her as she stared straight back into his eyes, sure.

She let him stare for a while, then raised her hand to his cheek and murmured, "If you can promise, so can I," and his face split in a massive grin, not even trying to kiss her as he wrapped his arms around her and dropped his head, turning his face into her hair.

"I love you," he said quietly, and she cradled the back of his head, smoothing her hand over his hair and then wrapping her arm tight around his neck, pressing her body to his. "Gonna feed you," he said, same tone, same volume, and she grinned, releasing him slowly and letting him move back to the stove. He kept glancing over at her and she just kept smiling back, her cheek propped on her palm.

When they went to bed, climbing in on either side and meeting in the middle, they spent another long moment just staring into each other's eyes. She could tell that he was still nervous, and she couldn't blame him, not for one second. All she knew was that she would be there if he woke up in the night, and she would be there in the morning. She wasn't going anywhere.

He finally wrapped his arms around her, tugging her close and pressing his face to her hair, and she stroked her hand lightly over his forearm, thinking that even if he held her too tight to sleep, she wouldn't move. She loved him, God, she loved him, and she was happy, even with a pit of fear burning in her stomach. Maybe that would fade; maybe she wouldn't always be afraid; but even if it didn't, she knew now that it was worth it.

Real love, she was slightly horrified to discover, was worth nearly any sacrifice. She didn't think her life would ever be the same.

 _xx  
When all the lights are down,  
it's only darkness, baby.  
Like a beacon I'll be all lit up,  
you can follow me in the dark.  
You're not alone here, baby.  
When the daylight isn't long enough,  
in the night I'll be all lit up.  
xx  
_All Lit Up | Repartee


	7. epilogue

_xx  
Meet me on the battlefield, even on the darkest night,  
I will be your sword and shield, your camouflage, and you will be mine.  
Echoes of the shots ring out; we may be the first to fall.  
Everything could stay the same, or we could change it all.  
Meet me on the battlefield.  
xx  
_Battlefield | Svrcina

 **epilogue.**

"What would you consider your number one fear?"

Rachel shifted on the couch—she already had her legs crossed and her hands sandwiched tight between them, but now she hooked her foot around the back of her other ankle, as close to a human pretzel as she could get while sitting up. "Vulnerability, I suppose."

"Okay. What scares you about being vulnerable?"

Pressing her lips together, she jammed her hands down further and shrugged. "It's always been dangerous. I had no choice but to protect myself."

"In the past?"

"Yes."

"What about now?"

"Now…" She thought of Tex, thought of Tom, thought of the idea of walking down the street by herself, alone. "In some instances, I might be safe, but it feels wrong to let down my walls. Feels like a mistake."

"What's the worst case scenario?"

"With the people I trust… that they might change their minds, leave me or decide to hurt me."

"Then what?"

"Then I'd know…" The other woman watched her in silence, waiting, and Rachel finally went on, "That I was right. It was a mistake."

The other woman continued to watch her thoughtfully, tapping her pen slowly on her notepad, and Rachel stared down at her lap. "Your mistake?" she asked finally, and Rachel nodded.

"Yes. Of course."

"Your fault."

"Yes."

"If someone you trusted decided, out of nowhere, to insult you and reject you, you would blame yourself?"

Well that just sounded awful, but Rachel nodded.

"Why?"

"I let them in. I gave them the opportunity to hurt me. If I'd been stronger, it wouldn't have happened."

"Vulnerability is weakness."

"Yes."

"What is strength?"

Rachel hummed to herself, staring across the room at the pattern on the wallpaper as she thought. "Ideally, preparation and recovery. Prepare to be hurt, so that you can recover from it, and lose nothing in the process. Working is strength. Accomplishing things that are objective. My instincts tell me that being alone is strength. Relying only on myself."

"Have you ever found that vulnerability _was_ strength?"

"Yes." She paused. "Recently. I'm still looking over my shoulder. It could all come crashing down at any moment."

The woman nodded, looking down at her pad and scribbling a few words and then tapping her pen again, staring at what she'd written. "It's scary to be vulnerable."

"Yes."

"Being alone is easier."

"Yes."

"Then…" She looked up, cocking an eyebrow. "It requires more strength from you, doesn't it, being vulnerable?"

Rachel laughed, shaking her head, and uncrossed her legs, planting her feet on the floor and leaning her forearms on her thighs. "Yes! I'm a coward."

The woman smiled in return, shaking her head too. "Try to remember that courage is not the absence of fear, but action in the face of it. Which, from what you've told me, is exactly what you've been doing. Should we meet again in a week?"

When Rachel walked out into the waiting room, Tom was slumped in a chair, holding a magazine open in front of his face, but he looked up and smiled when he saw her. She stopped at his side as he replaced the magazine and stood up, then grabbed for his hand, holding it tightly in both of hers as they walked out to the elevator bank.

Neither of them spoke until they'd stepped onto the elevator, the doors closing behind the two of them, and then Rachel said, "She's good. She gets it."

He smiled down at her. "Good. I'm glad."

As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, Tom wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she turned her body into his, tucking her face against his shoulder and opening her eyes when she could bear it, closing them when she couldn't. She'd returned to work, which was fine; the lab was safe, mostly, and the people in the lab seemed safe. Being out in public was still hard.

Much as it had pained her to admit it, she hadn't been ready to move out on her own, so she was still living with Tex and Kathleen. Nobody could ever, ever know that she slept with a body pillow tucked into one of Tom's t-shirts. They had sleepovers once a week, and some nights she cried out of pure frustration at the slow, slow pace of her recovery.

Her sling was gone, but the scar she saw in the mirror every day was puckered and ugly, a permanent reminder. She was still working to regain strength in that arm, still in pain most of the time. Her bones ached, her muscles sore, and the scar itself would send jolts of stabbing pain at random.

Still, she went to work and spent her days feeling capable, useful, came home to dinner with Tex and Kathleen, called Tom before bed to talk for an hour or two about everything and nothing, pretending he was right beside her. They would have lunch some days, dinner others, and once a week she fell into his arms and let him inside her, let his physical strength hold her up and his love fill her up.

She couldn't lean on him all the time, not emotionally or physically even though he would let her and be glad to do it, but once a week she could demand exactly what she needed and get it, lay her fear and her pride at his feet and be free of it for one night, sleep in his arms and feel like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

The progress was slow but it was real, and when she lost sight of it her family was there to remind her. _Her family_. Those words still shook her up but just like _I love you_ and _I'm not going anywhere_ , she felt the truth of them deep inside.

Her appointment had been on a Tuesday afternoon, and both she and Tom had taken the afternoon off. Soon, Tom would be seeing a different therapist in the same office, and they would continue to take this time together. For now, they headed back to Tom's apartment, and he unlocked the door and followed her in, waiting for her to perch on the couch before he sat down beside her and let her crawl into his lap.

He wrapped his arms around her and she ducked her head under his chin, sighing against his chest. He didn't ask and neither did he seem like he was waiting for her to offer. He just held her and let her decompress in silence, her body relaxing in his arms.

After a while, she said, "I would like to bake a pie."

He shook a little, his abs contracting against her side, so obviously suppressing a laugh that she smacked her hand lightly against his chest and he pressed a kiss to her hair. "Okay," he said. "Make me a list and I'll go out."

She sat up, pressing a kiss to his lips before she clambered off his lap and got to her feet, heading into the kitchen to rifle through the cupboards and the fridge, making a list of what she needed and sending him off with another kiss. Once he was gone, she put some music on and paced in circles, kitchen living room foyer kitchen, trying to keep her thoughts under control until he got back and she could set to it.

Even before all of this, she'd found therapy in starting a pie from scratch, mixing the dough and rolling it out, chopping fruit and preparing the filling, pressing the dough into the tin and then laying the top over it all, sealing the edges until she had a neat little self-contained pastry, and then baking it. The steps never changed, each part of the process requiring her full attention, and she had often found herself coming back to it in times of trouble or confusion.

She'd learned the recipe from her mother, a long, long time ago.

It was something she had to do alone, and Tom seemed to understand this, sitting down at the kitchen table with a book and letting her work. Funny, wasn't it, that she could be alone in his presence? She filed that away for later consideration, letting herself get lost in the recipe. She hadn't done this since before, and there was a learning curve, her right arm still a bit weak for things like mixing a dry dough and rolling it out in sheets. Her crusts were uneven, and she had to turn and re-roll them more times than ever before, letting out a low growl of frustration each time.

She got it, though, sighing out a relieved breath when the completed pie looked more or less the way it should. She slid it into the oven, set the timer, and peeked through the window at it before straightening up and tilting her head back, stretching briefly.

Then she crossed the kitchen with a quick stride, sliding onto Tom's lap and wrapping her arms around his neck.

He set his book aside, resting his hands on her waist, and smiled. "Hi."

"Hi," she said back, smiling at him quietly for a moment before leaning forward to kiss him, her chest pressing up against his, one arm hooked around the back of his neck and her other hand smoothing over his hair. She tilted her head, tugging with her arm and grinding down on him, and she was suddenly reminded of a similar but _extremely different_ scene, laughing through her nose.

He laughed too, automatic, and broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers and saying, "What's funny?"

She scratched her nails through his hair, pressing her hip between his legs and feeling him half-hard beneath her, and as his breath caught she said, "Just thinking of another time I was sitting on your lap in this kitchen."

He laughed again, breathless, and said, "Long time ago."

"Mmhmm," she hummed, rocking against him, his hands tightening on her waist. "Lifetimes ago."

"Lifetimes," he echoed, moving to shift her off his lap, but she kept her arm hooked tight, reaching her other hand down to undo her pants, and he tipped his head back, groaning. "I should be so lucky, to have lifetimes with you."

She hummed her agreement, pushing her pants down and off her legs before swinging one leg over to the other side of his lap, whimpering when she came into contact with his jeans. She went for his belt, undoing it and his pants and tugging them down as far as she could, thanking science for birth control pills as she moved her hands up to brace on his shoulders, pushing up and letting him use his hand to guide himself inside of her.

As she eased herself down, whimpering, she wondered if this would ever get routine, ever get boring. There was something like familiarity to it, an ease, but still it felt almost like the first time, filling her up and almost overwhelming her.

 _Almost_ could be a magical word, sometimes. It was _almost_ too much, _almost_ more than she could bear, but she bore it and it was all the more potent for those _almost_ s.

Something incredible. Something beautiful.

 _Love._


End file.
